Move Time
by Legwarmer
Summary: [OneShot] A twentyyear old, very very naive and dreaming Madame Giry thinks about moving time. She wants to crawl someplace she's loved. How the Phantom, a friend, reacts to her childish thoughts and how he can release her.


**A/N: Hi, another one-shot that's not been planned. This time, it's Madame Giry's thoughts. Just need a little change from my Phantom thoughts. Heheh. So, please read, please review, and, don't forget: Don't put me on your story alert list because there is n o t going to be a second chapter. Thank you. (Besides, most of you will think it's OFC, but I have to say: We know very little about Madame Giry, neither do we know how she develops during her life. This is just one of the many possibilities.)

* * *

**

**Move Time**

**One-Shot

* * *

**

My name is Antoinette Giry. I am a small ballerina back in the Corps of the Opera Populaire. I go to classes six times a week, the other time of the day I linger around in my room and think. I live in my own dreamworld that is, from time to time, interrupted by the displeased cries of my ballet teacher. At night, I like to watch the stars. In between, I think about a person named Erik. People say I saved him, years ago, but I didn't. I found him down in the catacombs one day, when I wanted to find out what other secrets are hidden in the Opera. But people need legends. So I lied for him.

On Sundays, when I get a break from my ballet world, I go down to visit him. We eat lunch and he tells me about the beautiful books he is reading. Some of them tell me a stories about kings and queens, most of them are about Russia and England. He makes me dream.

I should be able to move time, I think and stare at the stars, I could go and be Madame Pompadour. I could wear beautiful dresses, I could dance to old music, I could live another live, away from this Opera. This Opera is not my home. Yes, my parents put me here years ago to get rid of me. "Evil little thing," my mother said when I last saw her, "you are not my child." Well, something likely. I've forgotten, it doesn't mean anything to me.

Move time. Can people move time? Could I go back and live like Qeen Elisabeth? I would have jewels, I would be important. I dream and dream. What a dream. I sigh. It's time to go down to the Phantom.

I finally arrive down in his catacombs. He is sitting on a chair, now he turns towards me and smiles. His teeth are as white as his mask.

"Good evening, Erik," I say and step next to him to sit down on his bed.  
"Hello, little Giry." Now I feel at home. At least a bit.

"Erik," I say and raise my eyebrows, "do you think I can move time? If I just believe in me hard enough?" He sits down next to me and plays with a pillow.

"Well, why would you want to do that?"

"I want to be Madame Pompadour. I want to be someplace I belong, someplace where I'm important, someplace where I have parents."

"Just because you don't have parents you think about moving in time?"

"Yes. Well, no."  
"I knew it couldn't be it."

"Maybe even Queen Elisabeth. At least I'd have lots of admirers. Here in the Corps, I'm just nobody."

"You have admirers."

I stare at him. "I don't."

"You're naïve, little Giry."  
"I'm twenty, what do you want?"

"You behave like a fourteen year old. You should, possibly, learn to open your eyes and see the love around you instead of dreaming about time."

"There is no world around me."  
"Yes, there is."

"At least, there's no love." I look down on my hands, they shake. I can't live in the Opera anymore, it depresses me, I have no privacy, no place to hide in the arms of somebody who really cares about me.

"There is. Just open your eyes." I look at him.

"You mean you know somebody?"

"I do." He does? I don't get it. Why? Am I really so naïve? "You're so small, not mature at all, Antoinette. I think you need somebody to grow you up."

"Ah." He leans over, my heart starts to beat. What does he want? He, Erik, he who is such a hero of feelings? He is closer now. I close my eyes and feel soft lips. I return the kiss and for some moments, I don't realise anything around me. Our lips seperate again, I look at him. He smiles.

I don't need to move time, I don't need to be somebody else. All those thoughts are useless. My life is here, down in his catacombs. My naïve mind realises that, at least.

* * *


End file.
